


Fiddlestanwiches, BillFords and Other Stories

by bananabog



Series: The Drabble Series [4]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Angst, Billford - Freeform, Crack, Fluff, M/M, Multi, Other, PWP, Tagging the more prominent pairings only, assorted pairings in here, fiddlestanwich, mostly fiddlestanwich though, not tagging r&m because the stanchez doesn't happen that much to justify it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-27
Updated: 2016-07-14
Packaged: 2018-05-29 10:43:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 29
Words: 11,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6371644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bananabog/pseuds/bananabog
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of 100- and/or 300- drabbles for the FiddleStanwich OT3, BillFord, and other miscellaneous pairings which don't fit into my other drabble series. </p><p>Pairing/prompt/rating to be indicated in the titles. <b>Listed as "Completed" as it'll no longer be updated.</b></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fiddlestanwich - Three's a Crowd - Gen/Fluff

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Mystery Trio: Boat Edition" <3"
> 
> Freeform, 470+ words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Post-finale.

“You want… _me_?”

The twins share a brief look before nodding at him, smiling.

“But only if…” Ford shifts his weight. “Only if you’re okay with it, too.”

“Oh, fellas…” Fiddleford doesn’t know whether to be touched, or upset, or elated, “T-that’s… that’s gosh darn _humbling_ , that is, I – this is, this is such a _big_ thing for you two, I couldn’t _possibly_ – ”

“Y’sayin’ ya ain’t important to us, too?” Stan challenges, but there’s neither heat nor pressure behind his words, his crow’s feet pronounced.

“No, ‘course not,” he stammers, “but – but there’s _Tate_ , an’ _t’house_ , a-an’ I’ve still got all these _requests_ and _commissions_ now a-and – ”

“Fiddleford…”

Stanford lays a gentle hand on his old friend’s shoulders and – it’s warm, and comforting, and just so _long_ since the three of them have been together like this. He swallows down the lump in his throat as Stanford continues, “We wouldn’t  _dream_ of making you leave your son behind. Especially not after you’ve just reunited. Tate is more than welcome to come with us, if he’s agreeable to it. It’s only logical, after all, I mean – he’d be _our_ family, too.”

“And it’s not like ya gotta _stop_ workin’ once you join us,” Stan jokes. “I mean, we’ve still gotta make a livin’, somehow…”  

Ford punches his brother in the shoulder. Stan returns it. All three of them laugh, and Fiddleford takes the opportunity to wipe at his eyes because he’s cackled a tad too hard.

“I… suppose I could rent out the house.” He can’t believe it. After all this time… “And I’ll talk t’Tater ‘bout it, though I doubt there’ll be any issues _there_ …  But fellas, we’re goin’ t’need one _heck_ of a ship to fit all’a us in it.”

Stanford chuckles. 

“About that… I might or might not have some knowledge about integrating hammerspace into the functions of existing objects.” 

Ford un-subtly produces half of a large fishing pole from one of the inner pockets of his trench coat as demonstration, before completely stowing it away again. Fiddleford’s mouth hangs open in awe. He wasn’t aware that technology like _that_ existed. His mind’s already whirring with new ideas, new possibilities – “And I’m sure you’d be able to pick up on that information more than easily enough without even trying.”

“Heck, you could even incorporate it inta your stuff.” Stan barks a sharp laugh. “I’ve _love_ to see the price tag you’d give for one’a those…”

“Not everything needs to be about _money_ , Stanley.”

“Not everything’s gotta be about you, _Stanford_.”

“…how is this even _remotely_ about me? I was just talking about teaching it to Fiddleford!”

“Ooh, sure, let’s show off all the fancy, nerdy _science stuff_ I brought back with me, while I was hoppin’ through space holes in… space!”

“ _Fellas_ ,” Fiddleford says. This is starting to feel way too familiar. “Fellas, we haven’t, we haven’t even gotten on th’boat yet. I haven’t even accepted your – ”

It feels like home.


	2. Fiddlestanwich - Hell of a (Slight NSFW) - Crack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "food fight, porn"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> implied drug use

“S’not my fault that F-Fiddle _fuck_ left his goddamn cupcakes out.” 

Stan’s naked. They all are. He doesn’t know why. It feels nice. Breezy. “When I see something delicious, I gotta, I just. Gotta eat it. Like that ass,” he leers, where Ford’s buried face-down inside a potted plant.

“First, those were _brownies_ ,” Fiddleford snaps. “Second, t-that’s – that’s _gross_. He’s your _brother_.”

Ford’s voice isn’t that muffled, “You both want my ass, and you know it.”

“Hells yeah.” Stan’s gaze lands on the box of Dunkin’ Donuts atop the counter. He grins. “Who wants t’play Ring Toss? Buuuut with my dick!”  


	3. Starla - Can I Take Your Order - Gen/Fluff

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Starla, "romantic night out, then disaster""
> 
> 100-drabble.

Stan flirts with anything that moves.

This is gospel.

Very rarely, however, does anyone actually return his affections, the exception being Carla McCorkle. And their server, who’s either _incredibly_ desperate, or just really _oblivious_ to Stan’s now-uncomfortable small talk and increasingly obvious hints for her to leave them alone.  

The server leans down a tad too much in front of Stan. This time Carla’s _sure_ the other is bra-less.  

“ _Oh no my root beer float_ ,” Carla says, as she knocks it over and sends the freezing drink and ice cubes straight into the server’s blouse.

They’re banned.

It’s worth it.


	4. BillFord - A Little Shock (Slight NSFW) - Angst

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Bill takes a break in the torture."
> 
> 100-fill.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Weirdmageddon spoilers and implied sexual content/history.

“You don’t _have_ to make this so difficult, you know,” Bill grumbles. Behind him, Stanford pants harshly as the voltage finally tapers down, breaking off into pained, hacking coughs that send shudders throughout his entire body. “We both know there are much more _pleasurable_ situations in which you could also be moaning and writhing beneath me. So, whaddaya say, IQ? For old times’ sakes?”

It takes Stanford a while before he finds his voice. When he speaks, it’s not in a language of Earth’s.

“Wow. _Rude_.” Bill snaps his fingers. Stanford starts screaming again. “A simple ‘no’ would have sufficed.”


	5. Ford/Henchmaniacs - Fairly Sure This Is Illegal (Slight NSFW) - Crack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Ford and the Henchmaniacs - Sloppy seconds."
> 
> 100-fill.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't even know. Spoilers for Weirdmageddon, obviously.

“Okay, _wait_ , no, _hold on_ ,” Ford snaps. He stabs an accusatory finger at Paci-fire. “Not _him._ ”

Teeth’s jaw literally drops open. “So you’re fine with _Xanthar_ , but not him? What _gives_ , man?”

The others begin muttering their discontentment.

Ford folds his arms. “Look, all I’m saying is: I’ve been in at least fifty-three hundred dimensions. And not _one_ of them was okay with infantile intercourse.”

 _“I’m at least seventy centuries old, you jackass,”_ Paci-fire retorts.

“Boys!” Bill claps his hands. “No one said this had to be _completely_ consensual.”

There’s a pause. Then… they _grin_ at him.  

“…oh, COME ON!”


	6. Stan/Reader - Be Careful With That - Gen/Fluff

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Stancest OR FiddleStan. Hand-kink scalp massage."
> 
> 2nd-person POV, 300-drabble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have some vague, ambiguous Stan-solo / Stan x Reader / Stan x Choice of Pairing Partner here because this was a really hard decision to make.

His hair is grey, short, coarse, and not evenly trimmed (because Stan cuts his own hair, because “Why on _earth_ would I wanna pay some Tom, Dick an’ Harry ta do somethin’ I could do fer free myself?” and you let his usage of improper English slide, _just this once_ , as you always have).

Your finger pads lightly graze against his scalp. You feel a slight twinge of irrational disappointment at how unfairly short it is, as you try to make fists in it. You know he’ll hate hearing it, but sometimes… you miss his mullet.

You start kneading, gentle pressure through your fingertips as your thumbs work in small, firm circles, starting between the thick muscles at the base of his skull and up over the back of his head, fanning your fingers as you reach the apex of his forehead. Stan hums, pleased, as he settles even deeper back into his seat and tilts his chin back towards you in satisfaction.

“Hate barbers.” He chuckles. “Still do. Sittin’ in a chair like this… Wit’ someone behind me… I’d get so _nervous_. Think it was because a’ that one time Ma had to hold me down as a kid while I screamed and struggled as they shaved my head bare, so we could get ridda th’lice.”

You move your fingertips to his temples and begin carefully caressing the hollows there, almost as if to massage away the bad memories. Stan makes a low, pleasured noise in his throat.

“God, your _hands_ ,” he says, sighing happily. “It’s like… like all your smartness just travelled inta them. Y’always know where ta rub.” He pauses, then leers suggestively. “…If ya get my meanin’.”  

You smack his head for that. Stan just laughs and closes his eyes as he surrenders himself to you.


	7. Fiddlestanwich - I'm Even More Stressed Now - Gen/Fluff

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "scalp-prompt; but Fiddlestanwich"

“If you braid my hair I _swear_ to god, Stanley,” Fiddleford growls.  

“Throw in some cute ribbons, too.”

Fiddleford increases the pressure of his fingers on Ford’s scalp in retaliation. He smirks when the other’s snickers turn into yelps.  

“Which part’a this was supposed to be relaxin’ again?” Stan grumbles. Stan’s fingers might be clumsy, calloused sausages, but he’s startlingly tender as he massages Fiddleford’s temples. “And – ow! Geez, Poindexter, when was the last time ya clipped yer nails?! Stonehenge?”      

“First, that’s ‘Stone _Age’_ ; second, just five days ago – ”

Fiddleford groans. “ _Anything_ we do together will _never_ be relaxing.”


	8. Fiddlestanwich - Don't Fuck with the Guck (NSFW) - Crack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Fiddleford fed up with the twins arguing" + "Fidds easily tops them both" + "Fidds domming the Stans"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CRACK, NON-EXPLICIT, BUT IMPLIED SHENANIGANS. Sex talk, sex toys. The twins being idiots, and Fidds just being 100% fucking done with their bullshit.

“He won’t.”

“He totally will, and you’ll _like_ it.”

They stare each other down.

“…wanna bet on it?” Stan offers.  

x x x

He’s used to the twins constantly bickering about this or that, or some silly, menial thing, but their latest argument is getting _ludicrous_.

And a tad too personal.

“I’m _obviously_ better! You call _that_ thing a dick?”

“Oh, yes, _everything’s_ always got to be about _size_ , doesn’t it? To compensate for the absolute _lack of it in your cranium!_ ”

“At least _I_ don’t start screaming math equations when I get close!”

“At least _I_ know the sum of two plus two!”

 _Just keep working_ , Fiddleford tells himself, his left eyelid taking on the faintest of tics. He sticks the compass a little too hard into the graph paper and it leaves a pin hole. _Just keep working…_

“At least _I’ve_ never bottomed to _Fidds!”_ Stanley shouts.

 _If P = 6000 kPa and T = 500 C, then h = 3423.1 kJ/kg and s = 6.8826 kJ/kg*K._ Fiddleford begins drawing a slow, hard line down the edge of his ruler with a pencil. _For P = 30 kPa, we need to find the properties for –_

Stanford snorts, haughtily. “Please. He bottoms to both of us! He never tops!”

“ _Fellas_ ,” Fiddleford announces, loudly, the tic of his eyelid turning into a full blown twitch, “In case you haven’t noticed: sitting right here. Right in front’a ya.”

“Well, I’m just _that_ good!”

“He’s screams _my_ name louder.”

“He screams my name _more_.”

“ – I can _kind of hear everything you’re saying_ and I’d really rather _not_ keep – ”

“You’re just jealous because he’ll never want you inside of him as badly as he does _me_.”

Fiddleford gets up. He walks calmly over to the brothers.

“Oh yeah?! You wanna go?!” Stan shouts.

 _“Oh, yes,”_ Fiddleford says.

He casually slides one hand around the back of their heads each and smashes their foreheads together.

x x x

When they come to, they’re lying on a bed. Not _their_ beds. _A_ bed. Stan isn’t even sure where the king-sized mattress has come from; he certainly hasn’t stolen – er, purchased one recently.

Ford’s lying beside him. He stirs awake with a groan. “Ow… cripes, Fiddleford, a little warning would have been…”

Ford stops. He stares.

His hands are tied to the bedpost.

So are Stan’s.

Both twins slowly turn their heads towards the remaining occupant in the room, who’s seated cross-legged in the chair in front of them.

He smiles placidly at them.

“I’d like to play a game.”

x x x

“The rules are simple.”

Ford squeezes his thighs together. The motion does very little to rid him of the pressure between his legs. Next to him, Stan squirms futilely as little pants and whimpers escape him, his hips rocking downwards as he tries and fails to gain relief.

“Rule Number One. If at any point in time you want to back out of this, say ‘Red’. Unless you indicate otherwise, I’m going assume the color remains ‘Green’.”

Fiddleford’s still sitting very calmly and quietly in the chair before them, posture at utter ease, his crossed leg leisurely bobbing in time to the lewd noises they’re making. Unlike them, he’s remained fully clothed. 

He simply continues observing the both of them from his seated position: elbow propped on the arm of the chair, chin nestled in his palm, long, dexterous inventor’s fingers splayed across a cheek, the little finger delicately resting across his upper lip. There’s the vaguest of smirks at the corners of his mouth as he continues, coolly, “But I’m sure you wouldn’t do that. Oh, no. You’re both very good sports. There’s really nothing like a little _friendly competition_ between two close siblings to get the blood pumping. _Color_!” he barks, suddenly.

“Green!” they both moan immediately.  

“ _Good_. Now. Rule Number Two.”

Fiddleford turns up the dial on the small remote in his free hand, and the low, subtle hum that’s been resonating throughout the room blooms into an audible buzz. Stan damn near begins wailing, while Ford throws his head back and starts panting like he’s run a marathon.

“Make a mess before I say you can, and the timer resets. And that goes to either one of you. What was it that you two always said? ‘ _Wherever we go, we go together?_ ’ …Something to that effect.”

x x x

“ _Holy_ ,” Stan gasps.

“ _Shit_ ,” Ford agrees.

They’re wrecked. They’re both completely and utterly _wrecked_ and Fiddleford still hasn’t physically _touched_ them.

Ford thumps an open palm toward’s Stanley’s prone body. “Told you he was into this. Pony up.”              

“God fucking _damn_ it,” Stan groans. He makes an aborted attempt to sit up. He flops back down. “Can’t fuckin’ move. And m’wallet’s still in m’pants. I’ll pay ya later.”

Fiddleford’s back at his work station. He hums a simple, cheery tune under his breath as he continues to work on his blueprints.

“We need to argue again,” Stan says. “Like, ASAP.”


	9. BillFord - Foot Washing - Angst

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Kiss My Feet"
> 
> 2 x 100.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers for Weirdmageddon.

“Hey.” Bill snaps his fingers. “Kiss my feet.”

“Uh… sure?” Stanford dips his head without question, giving a quick peck to them. He straightens after, frowning in uncertainty. “Was that okay…?”

“Eh. Pretty weak, but I’ll let it slide.” Bill re-crosses his legs. “Can’t expect much from someone who’s never even held a proper conversation with a girl before. …Your Physics professor doesn’t count.”

Stanford huffs, caught. He fiddles with his pen.

“Could I… try that again, perhaps?”

“It’s cool! I was just messin’ with ya.” Bill ruffles his hair. Stanford beams, shyly. “You’re just so _obedient_. I love it.”

x x x

“Kiss my feet.”

“Kiss my ass,” Stanford snarls.

Bill leans in, smirking. “You know… I kinda like you better like this. Adds more fuel to the flame…”

“There _is_ no flame,” Stanford spits. The chains rattle as his fists tremble. “I might have carried a torch for you _before_ , Cipher, but it was destroyed the day you betrayed my trust.”

“Ugh, _this_ again.” Bill rolls his eye. “Which part of ‘it was your fault for being so stupid in the first place’ did you not get?”

“Says the one who still calls me a ‘brainiac’.”

Bill squints at him. “…Touché.”  


	10. Fiddlestanwich - I Rigged It! (Slight NSFW) - Crack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "bedroom shenanigans at Fidd's mansion"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finale spoilers.

“Okay!” Ford rubs his hands together in anticipation as he scans through the numerous suggestion slips before him. “For tonight’s activities, we… are going toooo…!”

He flips one over. He flips it back immediately, expression stony.

He flips over several more. 

They all read the same thing.

“God _damn_ it, Stanley, did you monopolize this?!”

“Hey! There’s absolutely _nothing_ wrong with wantin’ ta ‘bang till dawn’!”

“Not when it’s the _only idea you have to contribute!”_

“PILLOWFIGHT!” Fiddleford starts running full speed at the brothers. “FIGHT LIKE A HILLBILLY, FELLAS!”

Ford screeches. “ _WAIT FIDDLEFORD NO THOSE ARE RICE SACKS –_ ”


	11. Fiddlestanwich - Nylon (NSFW) - Crack

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There’s a tad bit more focus on FiddAuthor in this, but trust me, they’re all banging the shit out of each other in roughly equal amounts

Stanford fidgets.

“It’s… not… baaaaaad?”

“Yes, it’s, uh…” Fiddleford has his lips pressed very tightly together, the corners of it trembling, “It’s rather, ah… how do I phrase this _politely_ …? Ittt… Iiiiitttttt’sssss – ”

“ – very _unique_ ,” Ford suggests.  

“Yes!” Fiddleford snaps his fingers. “ _Extremely_ unique!”

“ _Exquisite_ ,” Ford offers.

“Fascinating!”

“It certainly… _piques_ the interest.”

“And we, we uh, we have a LOT of interest,” Fiddleford agrees, his shoulders shaking, “ _SO much interest_ , in fact, that I’m… just… _would you excuse me, just for a minute_ – ”

The inventor leaps out of his seat and sprints out of the room. He’s in loud hysterics before he’s even cleared the door.

“Alright, fine!” Stanley snaps, coloring. He’s nearly the same shade of red that his stockings and garters are. “It looks stupid, I get it! You don’t gotta rub it in!”

“It’s not _stupid_ , Stanley, it’s just…” Ford is doing a terrible job of keeping a straight face. “It was a very… _appealing_ … idea in theory, but in the flesh – ”

“– so _tiny_ on him…!” Fiddleford wheezes. He might very well be having an asthma attack. He clutches at the door frame like it’s a life line, bent over almost in half with laughter, “And they’re so… so _tight_! I’m surprised they didn’t – that they haven’t _ripped off_ just from walking – !”

“You guys are ASSHOLES!” Stan whirls around to stomp off the scene. He ends up planting his face into the floor instead, one of his high heels flying off in a wide arc from the motion of it. This just makes both scientists howl even louder.

Stan’s crawling away with as much dignity as he can muster when a very audible rip splits the air.  

Fiddleford shrieks. “ _IT RIPPED I FREAKIN’_ CALLED _IT –_ ”

“FUCK YOU BOTH!!” Stan roars.

x x x

“I’m _waiting_ ,” Stanley growls, finger tapping irritably against crossed arms.

“ _Must_ we?” Stanford asks, again, already defeated.

Fiddleford sighs. “It’s only fair.” He starts the record player before shuffling back to his position besides Stanford, looking similarly discomfited. “Let’s just get this over with…”

Stanley raises an eyebrow as both men before him begin running their hands over their own bodies, swaying their hips in time to the slow, sultry melody blaring from the gramophone.

_“Come on sexy mama, come on lay back and let me soothe ya…”_

The other eyebrow goes up as they move in perfect synchronization, both reaching for the other. They leisurely, deliberately begin undoing each other’s dress shirts.

_“Take it easy, baby; Let me do what I wanna do to ya…”_

“Uh,” Stanley says, staring unabashedly as fingers begin brushing over bare collarbones and exposed chests, “Not that I’m complainin’, but isn’t this… kind of…  _not,_ humiliating?”

“Be quiet, Stanley.” Ford slips the tie off of Fiddleford and tosses it carelessly in Stan’s direction. He catches it, sputtering.

_“I wanna open up them love gates to my heaven… This afternoon, I know you’ll like me; By tonight you’re gonna love me…”_

Their shirts are completely unbuttoned, but neither move to take them off. Stan grips the still-warm tie, gulping as his eyes trail down the vertical peeks of flesh revealed. Both men slide their hands onto the other’s hips, gazes locked, half-lidded, as they continue gyrating suggestively along to the music.    

 _“I think in just a moment, there’s gonna be a love explosion; Go ahead and let your jones get good and funky,_ ooh _…”_

At that last “ooh”, both of them take a firm grip on the others’ pants. They give a sharp _tug,_ completely tearing them off.

Stan’s eyes bug out of his head.  

x x x

They’re both in thigh highs. Very sheer, very _lacey_ , thigh highs which leave absolutely _nothing_ to the imagination. Ford’s has roses or some other flowery shit on it. Fiddleford’s are fishnets.

Stanley’s jaw drops as they both move as one, stepping out of their business shoes in perfect harmony so that they’re left in just the stockings and their infuriatingly undone shirts. The instant they step onto the bare floor, however, is when things start to take a turn.

Their actions, previously coordinated and graceful, smooth as silk and as fluid as water, abruptly become clumsy, awkward, inept. They stumble exaggeratedly, floundering, like ostriches on a waxed floor and – and they _have_ to be doing this on _purpose_ , because now the both of them are pulling faces that are _decidedly unsexy_ , and moaning so enthusiastically falsely that they’re nearly putting Stan’s gift of lying to shame.

He slaps a hand over his mouth as they both wobble up to him, flailing and wind-milling their arms, still making those terrible, hideous, extremely _unattractive_ faces as they start to… he doesn’t even know _what_ the hell they’re trying to attempt at this point. Are they grinding on him? Soothing an itch? Giving him a lap dance? Doing the invisible hula? _Having a seizure?_

“ _Stop_ ,” he gasps, as they attempt to climb into his lap at the same time, “stop,  _please_ , for the love of all that’s holy; it’s _so bad_ there’s not even a word for it – ”

“Atrocious?” Ford suggests.

“Preposterous,” Fiddleford agrees.

“Absolutely _appalling_.”

“ _Abhorrent_ , even.”

“Whatever the hell language you nerds just spoke in.” Stan’s laughing so hard he can barely breathe. “Oh god, _PLEASE stop!_ I _might_ actually start throwin’ up…! Jesus!”

“So,” Ford grins, “are we even?”

“Oh, yeah.” Stan wipes at his eyes. “Oh, hell yeah.”

x x x

“You know,” Stan muses, much later, as they’re all coming down from one of the most intense sexual highs they’ve ever had together, “it actually _was_ kind of hot until you guys started doing… whatever the hell _that_ was.”

“I vaguely recall someone complaining about how we weren’t being humiliated enough,” Fiddleford grumbles. His heart obviously isn’t in it, however, and he heaves a contented sigh as he curls up closer towards the larger man, idly running his fingernails through the coarse hair on Stanley’s arms.

Ford shifts behind them. He clears his throat awkwardly before admitting, quietly, “Yours… wasn’t too bad either, Stan. It was just… well. It was… unexpected. It was _new_ , and – ”

“ – and that’s _still no excuse_ for us to have reacted the way we did,” Fiddleford cuts in, smoothly. He sends Ford a silent, warning glare over Stanley’s shoulder. Ford rolls his eyes, but lies back in concession. “Especially for how I laughed at ya, Stanley, I’m… I’m mighty sorry about that, still.”

“Eh.” Stanley flops an arm. He grins. “Had sex. Got laid. Everything’s good.”

“Sometimes I’m almost ashamed to be related to such a degenerate specimen of  _homo sapien_ as yourself,” Ford mutters, fondly. “It… really wasn’t _that_ bad though. Just probably could have used a better fit. …Probably.”

“ _Well_ ,” Stan says, slowly, turning over so he can leer at his brother, who simply frowns in good humor, “I _guess_ I could get a better outfit, if you _wanted_ me to…”

“Which reminds me – Fiddleford,” Ford calls, “How much were these things again? I’ll credit them back to you with your next paycheck.”

The inventor looks extremely sheepish. 

“I didn’t… actually buy them.”

There’re stars in Stanley’s eyes. “You _stole_ ‘em?!”

“Dear lord – no! Of _course_ not!” Fiddleford scoffs.

“They’re my wife’s.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song in question is Sexy Mama by The Moments. You, uh, might wanna listen to that with headphones in.


	12. Fiddleford - Who Was He Again - Angst

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Blind Eye. Righteousness. Mind Control. Brink of Madness. For the greater good."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers/speculations for SOTBE, but honestly if you've come this far you've probably already seen the entire show at least more than thrice

“You’re turning on me?” he snaps. “After _everything_ I’ve done for you?!”

“It’s for the greater good.” He’s surrounded. They advance on him. “You were a great leader. Your visions… they were admirable. But you’ve lost your edge.” His back hits the wall and all he can do is press himself against it, as the tallest of the group steps closer towards him. “Let the old make way for the new.”

“Then I’ll leave on my own terms,” he snarls.

‘BLIND EYE FOUNDER’ the gun reads, and he pulls the trigger before they can react. The entire room goes white.


	13. Ford, Preston - The Flower Prince - Gen/Fluff

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Preston Northwest ° ͜ʖ ͡°"
> 
> Based on flower-prince!Preston from the CSAC AU by redcarrigan. If you haven’t read Coffee Stains and Cigarettes for the love of all that is holy read this fic now. Here, a direct link. You’ve got NO excuses now. (http://archiveofourown.org/works/4861232/chapters/11140511)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whenever these idiots finally get around to making up.

“They’re certainly… vibrant.”

Preston seems accepting of the peace offering. Ford relaxes.

“Stan picked them – ”

“I changed my mind,” Preston amends loudly and immediately, face darkening, “these are _atrocious_. Absolutely _appalling_. I mean – petunias! What? Who in their right mind puts _petunias_ in a floral arrangement? Along with _marigolds?!”_

“He doesn’t know.” Ford’s lips twitch with amusement. “I mean… it’s _Stan_. He probably just went ‘Preston likes flowers, oh look, flowers’, and that was it.”

“Well, according to this _charming_ bouquet, your brother either wants us to be friends, or he deeply despises me.”

“…it might be both,” Stanford concedes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These were my sources. I know jack about flowers even after looking them up and might be completely off with this one, lol
> 
> http://www.flowermeaning.com/petunia/   
> http://www.flowermeaning.com/marigold-flower-meaning/


	14. Stanchez, Ford - Love You Long Time (Slight NSFW) - Crack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Stanley, Stanford, rick fist fight over a couple smeckles."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Crossover with Rick Sanchez from Rick & Morty.

“I’ll rip you to pieces, you l-little shit!” Rick snarls, as he staggers over, “Don’t think that – URP – that just because you’re a fat ass that it AAUUtomatically makes you the winner!”

“Oh yeah, because Stick n’ Bones here’s really got me quakin’ in my boots.” Stan sneers at his opponent and the crowd goes wild.

“Smash his face in!”

“Break his arms!”

“Show him who’s boss!”

“What say you, folks?” Stan yells, grinning. He jabs a thumb at the scrawny drunkard who’s still swaying precariously on his feet before him. “Who wants to bet I’ll kick this toothpick’s ass?!”

x x x

They both stagger out of the bar an hour later, bloodied and completely disheveled but grinning a mile wide.

Ford pinches the bridge of his nose as they saunter up to him.

“Got paid, got laaaaid, bitch!” Rick dumps the hefty bag of currency at their feet. He takes a deep, satisfied swig of alcohol. “Boy, this is a lot more f-fun than those stu – URP – s-stupid missions you keep running around on.”

Stan smirks at his brother. “Told you we could bag five hundred schmeckels easy.”

“I am _not_ fornicating in public whenever we need the income,” Ford deadpans.


	15. Stanchez - How Do You Even Know We're Telling the Truth - Angst

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Rick thinks Stan is a simulation.(ANGST)"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> References to R&M S1E4, where Rick keeps finding himself inside a virtual world instead of reality no matter how many times he and Morty seem to escape it.

“It’s ME, asswipe!” Stan shouts, alarmed. “Goddamnit, put the knife down so we can fuckin’ _talk_ , alright?!”

“Ooh! Very convincing terror there.  A-plus!” Rick’s gaze is bloodshot, focused. The knife does not waver in the slightest. “I’m _sick_ of you motherfuckers always harassing me for the formula…!”

He lunges forward. Stan’s fists are already raised, but flesh isn’t really going to stand up to stainless steel.

“You broke my f-fucking arm!” Rick screams. “Son of a _bitch!_ You… oh yeah, that’s… reaaal realistic blood you’ve got going there, I’ll give you that. …wait, that’s not… Oh, _fuck._ Stan? S-shit! _Stanley?!”_


	16. BillFord - It Should Be Special (NSFW) - Angst

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompts: "Bill, first-time sex as receiver" + "Bill emotionally manipulating Ford".
> 
> 300-drabble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: DUB/NON-CON in this chapter. Dry intercourse. Demonic possession.
> 
> I DO NOT condone nor romanticize abusive behavior and I apologize if I offend anyone.

“Bill, t-this isn’t - ” Stanford’s actually trying to still his muse’s actions as Bill continues to force more of the toy inside of Stanford - inside of them. “It’s too big, too _dry_ , please - let me use lubricant, at least - ”

“Oh, _sure_.” Bill yanks the toy out angrily. Stanford _shouts_ and he whimpers, physically curled on himself while Bill pulls away from him in the Mindscape, sulking. “Ruin my first time for me. Fine. Do whatever you want, get it over with. I’ve got better things to - ”

“No, Bill, wait, I’m sorry!” Bodily, Stanford obediently lies back down so that his cheek and chest are flush against the mattress, his ass high in the air as he kneels, as he relinquishes control over his body, “I’m sorry. Please don’t be mad. Here, you can do whatever you want. However youURGH!”

Stanford cries out as Bill takes the toy and _thrusts_ it inside of them in one hard, swift motion. There’s a sharp pain - oh god, he’s torn something, he’s sure of it, and it _hurts_ and it _burns_ and his legs cycle uselessly against the bed, against the foreign invasion. But true to his word he doesn’t fight Bill for it, panting and howling loudly into the pillows instead as Bill begins pumping the toy in and out of them.

“ _That’s_ it. Atta boy.” Bill lovingly pats his cheek in the Mindscape, where Stanford’s bowed over in a similar position. “It feels good for me. This pain. This _pleasure_. I _love_ it. And you will, too, once you get used to it.” He pets Stanford’s hair and “kisses” his scalp. “Keep going. _Do it for me_.”

 _“Yes.”_ Stanford winces and forces his hips back down. Bill lets out another high moan of ecstasy. “For you. As long a-as it’s good for you.”


	17. BillFord - Don't Roll Your Eyes at Me (NSFW) - Crack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "billford first-time eye-mouth blowjob" + "bill being overpowered by ford / masturbating to the idea"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I lied. Now I’m going to hell.
> 
> Kinda guro?? idfk

Bill cackles, delighted. A second copy of the triangular muse is poised between the human’s spread thighs, moving lewdly with his thrusts.

“You _whore_.” Ford releases a loud, unrepentant whine. “Got your organ inside me, and somehow you’re _still_ the slut. Feel that? _That’s my eye you’re fucking._ It’s firm, but it’s got give. It’s warm. Moist. Better than any hand job, blow job you could ever get. Bet humans can’t do _this_ \- ”

Bill rolls his eye wildly. Ford _screams._

He’s never going to get the mental image of Bill blinking away tears of his cum out of his mind.


	18. Fiddlestanwich - Dittle van Buren (NSFW) Porn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Fiddlestanwich with sounding? Any age you prefer!" 
> 
> 3 x 300

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW, obviously. Fluffy porn. Leans a tad more towards being a Fordwich than a Fiddwich, but eh. Age is up to the reader, I left it ambiguous.

Ford is…

It’s moments like these Stan wishes his vocabulary were bigger, because the only thing coming to mind at the moment is “unraveling at the seams like a sweater”, and that isn’t even anywhere close to justifying nor accurate of the sight before his eyes.

The idea had sounded painful. Even now, it still _looks_ painful. But Ford’s expression completely dispels this. His head is thrown back in pleasure as far as it can go, exposed throat working soundlessly while half-formed gasps and curses tumble quietly off his tongue, his grip white-knuckled and fisted in the sheets. His thighs tremble where they’re spread, abdominal muscles flexing helplessly as he wills himself to stay as still as possible, while Fiddleford patiently rolls the lubed, thin steel that’s nearly disappearing down the other’s shaft between his steady hands.  

“Inserting a metal rod down your pee-hole” was not how Stan had wanted to spend that particular weekend. Little Stan had vehemently protested the idea, practically threatening to invert back into Stan’s body, and he’d backed its decision with unanimous gusto. Then the other two had made some not-so-casual, not-so-subtle comments about knocking before trying or whatever the hell, Little Stan had all but immediately and defiantly threw itself back into the ring, aaaand there they were. The three of them on the bed, either halfway naked or getting around to it. With a metal rod inside ( _inside!!_ ) of Ford’s dick.  

Fiddleford lets the sound edge against Ford’s prostate and Ford _whines_ , pleading, needy; Stan has to fight very valiantly not to jerk himself off there and then and oh, _yes_ , Little Stan is _definitely_ interested now. _Very much_ , in fact. (Maybe not for trying the actual activity itself, yet, but… the option to consider doing so in the future is certainly present.)

x x x

Ford is terrified and excited and calm and turned on beyond belief _all at once_ and he’s fairly certain if Fiddleford doesn’t stop what he’s doing soon, he’s very likely going to die. It’ll be an orgasmic death, to be sure, but still. He’s going to die all the same.

Fiddleford’s hands – those long, limber digits, smooth palms a contrast to fingertips toughened by his skill with metal and wire and years of playing the banjo – _god_ , his hands are _so_ steady. It’s ridiculous. It’s amazing. They’ve been doing this for at least twenty minutes and his hands aren’t tremulous in the least.

The… instrument (it feels almost an insult, to call something of this meticulous caliber a mere _toy_ ) doesn’t feel like an intrusion at all, just… comfortably snug. It’s strange, but not unpleasant, and honestly it really isn’t so much the feel of what the thing inside his most private of parts is doing to him than the way its handler is handling the both of them. Fiddleford has him in one grasp and the sound in the other, and while his grip on the metal instrument is sure, but not forceful, the hand around _him_ is nothing but gentle and assuring. The certainty of Fiddleford’s actions helps smother that little internal screaming inside Stanford’s head that warns him to be cautious; helps him be able to fully put his trust in the other and relax and actually _enjoy_ this.  

He releases a stifled groan and hears Stanley echo it in kind, equally aroused but similarly frustrated and oh, christ – he’s actually forgotten about Stanley. And Stan is looking at them, at _him_ , with so much raw hunger and lust and _want_ in his eyes that it nearly sends Stanford over the edge.

His hand closes over Fiddleford’s.

x x x  

Fiddleford stops moving immediately, patiently waiting, still smiling.

“I – “ Ford starts. His voice is actually quavering. His gaze flits between his brother, the inventor, and back again as he shakes his head rapidly and stutters out, “Need – C-Close, can’t – ”

Fiddleford lightly indicates his head in Stanford’s direction and Stanley shifts over, cautious of his weight against the bed springs. The larger twin carefully gathers his brother against him, steadying him, before nodding imperceptibly. Fiddleford starts drawing the sound out.

It’s a long, slow drag and Stanford gasps loudly like he’s been wounded as it leaves his slit – and then he’s coming without warning, twisting to bury his face into Stanley’s neck as he shouts and arches and finally allows himself the luxury of movement. He’s still shuddering and twitching when he finally stops shooting, whimpering from oversensitivity when Stanley rumbles low and appreciative into his ear and Fiddleford starts rubbing soothingly along the insides of his thighs, still opened wide and quivering on either side of the slighter man. They lower him gently back down to the pillows, covering his skin with tender kisses.

“Fuck.” Stan shifts, bluntly rubbing his erection against Ford’s bare hip and they both groan heatedly. “ _Shit_ , Ford, that was… Can I…?”

Ford barely finishes nodding before Stan’s humping him dry. It doesn’t take long for the other twin to follow the first before Stan collapses back into the pillows as well.

Fiddleford chuckles as he crawls up amidst the two and makes himself at home between them. They flank him immediately and the petting and kissing resumes, somewhat sleepily.

“Fiddleford,” Ford manages between their sated giggles and shared breaths, “don’t you…?”

The inventor grins and waves it off. “I’m good.”

They curl around each other and burrow noses into skin and drift asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I wrote this with old fiddlestanwich in mind but this can be taken either way.)


	19. Fordchez - You Can't be Straight in Space (Slight NSFW) - Crack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Fordchez with kink negotiation (ending in porn or not, either way is good!)"

Rick spreads his arms out in a grandiose gesture.

“Polythemeus juice, handcuffs, Cerubian chains, aaaaand… maybe two or three Dinglekrapers. Or five. Maybe, m-maybe ten? I dunno.”

“Ten’s pushing it.” Ford takes a nonchalant sip of his coffee, eyes still skimming the newspaper. “You know how they get claustrophobic.”

“Right, right. Good… good call. URP. Okay, so, Dinglekrapers out…”

“You know,” Ford muses, “I’ve always kind of wondered what a Fleabious Moussettler would feel like.”

Rick bolts upright. “You’ve _never_ had a Fleabious Moussettler?”

“Unfortunately not.”

“H-holy _shit,_ Ford!” Rick’s face is torn between hysterical laughter and the deepest of sympathies, “You’ve been to how, h-h-h-how many dimensions, and you’ve _NEVER_ had a Fleabious Moussettler?! That’s, oh boy, that’s… that’s just sad. Alright, it’s settled. We’re going to X-935, and – URP – and we’re gonna, we’re gonna scale those cliffs, and plunder those crevices, and fist those orifices until we find a goddamn Fleabious Moussettler. And then – URP – I tell you what, Fordsy, and then you and I… You and I are gonna, we’re gonna have ourselves a jolly good time with that Fleabious Moussettler. I’ll make it the time of your life.”

Ford frowns. “You get your Fleabious Moussettlers from X-395? I thought they had strict regulations on what’s allowed in and out of there. And they have that really unnecessarily thorough and far too intrusive body search before interdimensional customs – ”

“Yeah, i-if you’re a – URP – if you’re a wimp, it is.” Rick takes a hefty swig from his ever-present bottle. “So. Where do you want it?”

“I’ve got contacts in #395-GJ who wouldn’t mind sponsoring us some Tentacreepers. Possibly even Vulvalian rooms, if they’re still available.”

“Ohhh _yeah_. The wetter the better!”

“What the _hell_ are you guys _talking_ about?” Stan asks, bewildered.

“We’re having sex,” they intone.  


	20. BillStan - I Want to Make a Deal - Angst

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Do you do billstan? Bill manipulating mullet stan, mullet stan falling for him even though he's like 70% sure the guy is pulling a con on him"

“You have nothing that I want, Stanley Pines. You’re worthless.”

“Oh, but I do,” Stan says. He holds up a tattered, worn book with a golden hand emblazoned across its cover and smirks internally as Bill’s eye flashes red at the sight of it. “That thing you had my brother workin’ on? I’m willin’ ta bet it’s somethin’ real important to ya. You NEED it. But with the Poindexter outta the picture, you’ve got no one left in this world to complete it for ya. You’re stuck. For all eternity… unless someone reactivates it.”

Bill snorts in disbelief. “You?”

“I have his notes.” Stan tips his chin in defiance and glares at the other. “I’m no good at thinkin’ up stuff on my own, sure, but followin’ directions? Easy as pie. I bet you I can have that portal up and runnin’ again in half the time it took my brother to put it together.”

“… _Interesting_ ,” Bill concedes.

Neither speak for a long time, just silently evaluating the other. Stan’s steely expression betrays nothing, but his heart continues to thunder a hundred miles a minute.

 _“I want my brother back.”_ He licks his dry lips. “I want him back safe, well, and alive – as he was before he went through the portal – in exchange for the portal itself. And he lives out the rest’a his life as he was meant to. No untimely deaths, no sudden mishaps… exactly as he was and how he was meant to be, before you interfered with him.”

Bill startles, then bursts into elated laughter. He extends a hand towards Stanley, blue flames flaring up the length of it. “Taking preemptive measures against the invisible fine print already, huh? I like that! Oh, this will be SO fun!”

Stan grins humorlessly as they shake hands.


	21. Stanchez - Flowchart - Gen/Fluff

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "stanchez. Prompt "you're just enough Stan for me, and that's all that matters" "

Rick has no qualms where it concerns the ethically questionable. For him, it’s a single flowchart that reads something like this:

_Can he do it? – Yes / Yes_

_Will it benefit him? – Yes / Yes_

_Then do it, motherfucker!_

It’s simple: Take the DNA sample, clone it; incubate it until it turns legal, then have lots of nostalgic sex with it. Then destroy it. But he finds that he can’t.

He groans and rubs a frustrated hand over his face.  

“Stan, you stupid son of a bitch,” he mutters.  

He pulls out his lighter and sets the greyed hair aflame.


	22. BillStan, Ford - Should Have Changed That Stupid Lock - Crack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "StanBill Vegas wedding with Ford as the best man"

He’s deduced that the thing in his hands is a ring pillow.

He can’t see it – his arms had frozen outstretched above his head. But Stanford can still see everything that’s directly within his field of vision.

He’s pretty certain the boutonniere of offal Bill’s sporting on his chest, and the insanely long white gown that Stanley’s somehow squeezed into, means that he’s at their wedding.

 _Why_ they’re getting married – _how_ – any hopes that this might have been nonconsensual on his brother’s end as well shrivels up when Stanley starts drunkenly hollering, “ – SOOO NOW HE’S BACK! FROMMM OUTER SPACE! A-ANNNNN’ I FIND YA HERE WIT’ THAT STUPID LOOK UPON Y’FACE – ”

“Yeah, lay inta ‘im!” Bill dumps a shot of alcohol straight into his eye and whoops with an energized scream as he absorbs the liquid. (Stanford still has no idea how Bill’s anatomy works. Where did the teeth _come from_ , were they retractable? Would the tongue have to share the orbital cavity with the _oh my_ GOD, _NOT THE TIME_. FOCUS.)

“Louder!” Pyronica hoots, and the gang roars and stomps their approval. More liquid is served, more spills over everyone else and over the floor; and Stanley, well, he’s not singing. Not exactly. It sounds closer to the mating calls of a dying gorilla that had swallowed shrapnel and tree sap for lunch.

“ – S-SPENT SOOO MANY NIGHTS, FEELIN’ SORRY F’MYSELF, HOW I CRIED – ”

“No, go back,” Bill yells. “Go back to the chorus!”

“I WILL SURVIVE,” Stanley roars, to wild cheering, “I WILL SURVIIIIIVE! I WILL SURVIVE, I WILL _SURVIVE_ , I WILL SURVI-HI-HIIIIVE! I WILL SURVIVE, I WILL SURVIVE – ”

 _I hate you,_ Stanford thinks at his brother, as loudly as possible. His ears would be bleeding if he wasn’t golden. _I hate you_ so _much._


	23. Fiddlestanwich - Ketchup with Poutine - Crack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Stanwich: Fatherhood. (Interpret that however you want.)"
> 
> Freeform, idfk. 690+ words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maybe it’s a good thing they’re both bachelors.

Fiddleford shakes his head in disbelief. “I had my doubts about this, but… _wow_.”

“I know, right?” Stanley bounces the baby on his knee and coos loudly at the heavily swathed bundle of joy. “Potato’s a great kid!”

That gives Fiddleford pause. “…actually, that’s ‘Tate’ – ”

“ – psh. Tate, tater tot, potato, tomato, to-mah-toe. Same difference.”

“…the tomato and the potato are actually two _very_ – ”

“ – _what my brother is trying to say,_ ” Stanford cuts in genially, stepping between the two men, “is that Tate McGucket has been nothing but an absolute _delight_ to babysit. He’s been perfect! No screaming, no crying…”

“Yeah!” Stan laughs, then coughs. “Quietest baby I’ve ever heard!”

“In fact,” Stanford continues, smiling, “why don’t you take the night off, too, Fiddleford? Go have a nice dinner with your wife and enjoy a peaceful evening. We’ll look after Tate for the night.”

“Wow,” Fiddleford says, grinning, “gosh, fellas. Y’mean it? It’s been a long time since we’ve had any time to ourseeeeaaaaaiiiiiit a minute.” He crosses his arms, frowning. “You two are bein’ a tad too nice t’me today. What’s going on?”

Stanford rears back from him in mock affront. “Surely you aren’t implying that you think _something’s_ happened to your precious offspring while he was under our vigilant care?”

The lankier scientist narrows his eyes. “Getting suspicious-er…”

“Relax, Fiddlesticks.” Stan rolls his. “Nothin’ happened. I’d beat my brother’s skull in before I let anythin’ happen ta Potato.” He makes more cooing noises at the baby in his arms as he bounces it some more. “You know I would.”

“You’re just dying to have an excuse to,” Stanford mutters.

Fiddleford eventually concedes. He does gives them one last questioning look before he steps back through the front door, though. “This is because I trust Stanley, and not you,” he informs Stanford wryly.

“Pigs have flown,” Stanford grumbles. Fiddleford laughs, punches him lightly on the shoulder, and Stanford waves until his assistant is out of sight before he shuts the door behind him.

He immediately whirls on Stanley.

“Are. You. Out. Of. Your. Mind,” he hisses at his twin, horrified, both eyes wide. “’Potato’?! You almost gave us away!”

“’ _Us_ ’?” Stanley shouts, his face darkening to the exact tone of anger and disbelief that’s mirrored on Stanford’s, “ _I_ wasn’t the one who literally turned my assistant’s kid into a giant tuber! And by the way, _you’re welcome!_ ”

“For _what?!_ ”

“For being damned good at what I do, that’s what, and for covering your sorry ass!”

“Lying isn’t a _skill_ , Stanley! And yes, you did!” Ford yells, frustrated. “When you fed him the bottle of mandrake supplement I’d been working on, instead of the milk!”

“ – which was NEXT to it, in the SAME, unlabelled bottle! Who the fuck stores their shit in baby bottles, if they don’t have babies?!”

“I was out of vials and Fiddleford had extra containers! The choice was obvious!”

“ – and you said, and I quote, ‘Obviously, grab the one that looks like food!’”

“MILK ISN’T _ORANGE!_ ”

_“Well, orange juice is orange!”_

_“THAT DOESN’T EVEN – ”_ Stanford pinches the bridge of his nose and takes a deep breath. “Look, we’ve got maybe two, three hours maximum – ”

“You,” Stan drones. “ _You_ have three hours.”

“Help me fix this or I will _shoot you with my gun_ ,” Ford grits. “I’m 98.2% certain I can whip up a counter formula that’ll turn Tate back to normal, but it’s going to need ingredients I don’t already have in the house. And someone’s got to distract Fiddleford if Tate isn’t done returning to normal before he gets here.”

“Why me?”

 _“I’m sorry, did_ you _want to come up with creating the counter formula…?”_

“God damn it.” Stan groans in defeat and moves to get up. “Shit. Alright, let’s get crackin’. What the hell do I do with this?”

He jerks his head at the human-baby-sized potato still wrapped up in his arms. They both stare at it in consternated silence.

Stan chews on his lip thoughtfully.

“…so, I mean. Would it… Is it cannibalism if we – ”

“Oh, jesus – _Stanley!_ ”

“I was just sayin’! Yeesh!”

_“Just put it with the carrots and let’s go!”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and fiddleford never never never trusted stanley ever again the end


	24. Pines Family - Status Update: AAAAHHHHHHHHHH - Gen/Fluff

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Can I have a Ford/Mabel bonding over their silly/weird/dubiously moral little brothers? Please and thank you. "
> 
> 600+ words, gen Pines shenanigans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The younger twins are young adults in this, maybe 18-19. Unfortunately not my best writing, and I apologize in advance for that.

Dipper watches with helpless horror as his great uncle saunters up to the group of young women in front of them.

“ _Hello_ , ladies.” Stanley “Grunkle Stan” Pines leans confidently on their table and waggles his eyebrows at them. The girls give him a mixture of amused and distasteful looks. “My buddy bet me that I wouldn’t be able ta start a conversation with t’most beautiful girls in the bar. Wanna buy some drinks with his money?”

Dipper’s phone buzzes in his lap. It’s Pacifica.

‘Your uncle doesn’t recognize me at all, does he?’

Dipper cringes.

‘nope’

‘Help me, god.’

‘likewise’

x x x

Mabel’s phone pings and nearly vibrates off the table.

“I’m sorry, Grunkle Ford, I’ll shut that off.” Mabel snatches her phone up and moves to turn it to silent mode when one of her many unread notifications catches her eye.

She taps on it. There are several rapid fire messages coming in from both Pacifica and Dipper, in separate conversations. Mostly in capslock.

“Oh my god. Hey, Grunkle Ford,” she says, grinning as she flashes the screen at him, “Dipper says Grunkle Stan’s hitting on Pacifica. Without knowing it’s her. And he’s not stopping anytime soon.”

“Oh, _god_ ,” Ford says.

x x x

‘WELL, DON’T JUST STAND THERE’

‘technically i’m sitting’

‘YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN!’

‘i’m staying out of this man sorry’

x x x

Mabel crosses her arms and settles back, beaming. “I bet ten bucks that Dipper saves Pacifica.”

Ford takes his time to leisurely deliberate on his choices. “…ten bucks that your friend beats Stanley up.”

Mabel tsks at him. “Savage. What kind of a brother are you?”

Mabel’s phone pings again.

_‘ask ford if it’s possible to die of humiliation’_

Ford chuckles. “How’s this? I’ll make a list of all the pick-up lines I think he’d have used. I bet we can play bingo with them.”

“Loser has to play Truth Teeth or Dare for ten minutes,” Mabel challenges.

“Gross. Deal.”

x x x

“Ya got a map? I keep gettin’ lost in your eyes.”

‘DIPPER PINES HELP ME OR I SWEAR TO GOD’

x x x

Dipper clears his throat forcefully as he slides a casual arm around his uncle’s shoulders.

“Grunkle Stan! I see you’re having fun. Oh, goodness! Pacifica!” He takes a step back theatrically, hand over his chest while the blonde in the mangosteen-hued dress glares at him. “Fancy running into you here!”

“Paci-who?” Stan grunts.

“Pacifica Northwest?” Dipper prompts, gesturing at her. “We used to hang out together?”

Stan continues to stare blankly until Pacifica groans, and pulls her hair up in a rough appropriation of a bump.

“Like, remember, now?” she drawls, in exaggerated valley-girl.

“…I need a drink,” Stan says.

x x x

_“’Are you a magician? Because everyone else disappears when I – ’”_

“Yes,” Dipper and Stanley both intone. Mabel cackles evilly as she crosses off another saying on her list.

Ford clears his throat before moving on, smirking, _“’Do you have a band-aid? I just scraped my knee falling for – ’”_

“Yes,” Dipper drones.

Stanley scowls darkly into his can of beer. “I wasn’t actually interested in any’a them! I was just showin’ Dipper the ropes!”

“No offense, Grunkle Stan, but no thanks.”

“That’s still offensive.”

“Just ‘no thanks’, then.”

“BINGO!” Mabel crows. She holds up the rather heavily-marked paper in triumph. “I can’t believe it! You really did nail all of them, Grunkle Ford!”

“Let’s just say it isn’t the first time Stanley’s tried to, ahem, turn on the charm. Or what little’s left of it.” Ford grimaces. “…it probably won’t be his _last_ attempt, either…”

“I’ll have you know that those were all tried and true sayings!”

“For what? Failure?” Dipper mumbles.

“I heard that, you little runt.”

“I’m _taller_ than you, Grunkle Stan.”

“Once a runt, always a runt!”

“So, I was thinking.” Mabel hops up to her feet and gleefully shimmies up to her sulking uncle. “Since Grunkle Ford and I both won our bets about you and Dipper… And Dipper saved Pacifica… we don’t really have anyone for Truth Teeth or Dare, now.”

“I love that game!” Dipper exclaims. “Unless I’m wearing them. Then I hate that game.”

“But you haven’t really won any of _your_ bets, Grunkle Stan.” Mabel’s grin radiates nothing but innocence as she smiles at Stanley. “What say you, Grunkle Stan? Be a sport?”

“I’m not putting those things in my mouth again.”

“I bet you twenty dollars you will,” Mabel offers.

“Deal,” Stan agrees. Then frowns. “Hey, wait a minute – ”


	25. BillFord - What Can I Do For You (Slight NSFW) - Angst

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Maybe some kinky usage of weird demon powers/magic with BillFord?"
> 
> 850+ words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No nsfw content, but warning for what seems like con but is in reality dub-con, emotional and psychological manipulation. I do not condone any of this content, etc. – I mean come on. It’s fucking BillFord. You guys know what you’re in for.
> 
> (My younger!BillFord normally has lots of stuttery!bottom-as-fuck-for-Bill!Stanford (read: OOC Ford) so… skip if not your thing.)

“Have sex with me,” Bill suggests coyly, and smirks as Stanford projectile spit-takes his coffee across the Mindscape.

_“BILL!”_

_“Stanford!”_ Bill returns, sounding as just scandalized.

The human splutters some more and turns increasingly darker shades of pink. The coffee continues dribbling down his chin and onto his sweater as he futilely attempts to clean himself up using his sleeves, “I-I-I-I don’t – not that I – what are you – _why_?!”

“You ask a lot of stupid questions for a genius, IQ.”

“I didn’t – that wasn’t – Argh!” Stanford jerks his hands in front of him as if to shake off the remaining spill from his clothing, and his face and clothes are pristine again in the blink of an eye. “That’s _not_ how you proposition someone!”

“Hey, at least I asked! You wouldn’t believe what kind of customs some other dimensions out here have!”

“ – yes, but this is Earth! And besides, you didn’t _ask!_ You just… stated it! Like it was already going to happen anyway!”

Bill flutters his lashes. “It’s not?”

Stanford stammers some more. Bill waggles his singular eyebrow. “Don’t forget, brainiac. I know loooots of things. Like the near future, for example.”

Stanford’s voice pitches into a squeak. “Not… well, n-not that I’m… I mean, I’d be – it’d be an honor to – ! W-with you, I mean, I just – didn’t you say you were asexual?”

Bill rolls his eye and flaps a hand in the other’s direction. “I _said_ your limited scope of human sexualities don’t apply to me. Or to the rest of the multi-verse. There’re billions of definitions, across multiple races, and species, and galaxies! A vast majority of them too complicated for humanity to even comprehend! Trying to _classify_ me is an insult in itself. Urgh, you humans! Why do all of you always think that everything revolves solely around your species and its delusional ideals?”

“I’m sorry?” Stanford remedies immediately. He wrings his hands and visibly forces himself to try to calm down. “I was – well, I’m… really flattered. And humbled, of course, i-it’s just –” He exhales loudly and rubs at his neck, eyes glued to his feet. “I don’t understand why you’d want to, I guess. With… with me. And, er… well… _how_ to, actually. You’re not exactly… organic.”

“Relax, Fordsy.” The triangular, brick-textured being flashes in place, and suddenly he’s directly in front of the human, instead of several feet across from him. Bill flicks his nose. Stanford squawks and covers his external respiratory organ. “Mindscape, remember? _Anything we want to be._ Assuming a human form is child’s play for me.”

“It’s more than that,” Stanford mumbles, now tugging at the buttons on his sleeves in hypersensitive self-consciousness, eyes darting along some invisible track along the floor, “i-it’s just that I’ve… I’m not really – ”

“ – you’re a virgin.” Bill waves Ford off as the other starts making choked noises again. “No big deal! Maybe it’s a thing in the human world, but I don’t care about that. In fact, it’s better this way! _I_ get to be in control. No complaints there!” He leers at Stanford, eye curved in a taunting grin, “Besides, you know what they say about sacrificial virgins and gods… Seems kinda fitting considering the… _status_ , of our newly elevated relationship. Don’cha agree…?”

Stanford turns impossibly redder, flushing all the way to the tips of his ears, and tugs at his collar. He looks mortified by the embarrassment, still, but there’s no denying the pleased quirk that’s now made its way across his lips. It hasn’t been long since the human has allowed Bill to advance from merely visiting him in his dreams to being able to freely move in and out of his mind. The body possessing sessions, while (thus far) non-sexual in nature, are still rather high up on Stanford’s scale of intimacy.

“So, ah,” Stanford shuffles his feet, “I suppose you’re suggesting that we, um,  _properly consummate_ , our r-relationship.”

Bill laughs and circles the human in a quick, giddy loop. “Well, technically, I _don’t_ have to do any of this. But I know how you humans are. With your silly rituals, and emotional significance, and – eurgh – _sentimental reasons_ , and what not… Think of it as me doing this solely for your benefit.”

“I…” Stanford inhales and straightens a little so he can look fully at Bill, a shy, sincere smile on his face. “…thank you, Bill.”

“Hey, we’re partners.” Bill sends a quick pulse of his aura at the human – what Stanford has deemed is Bill’s way of “kissing”, without resorting to using that horrifying, slobbering eye-mouth of his – and observes internally with a kind of grim, disgusted satisfaction, the way the human responds to it with barely suppressed delight. Urgh. Stanford’s ridiculously _easy_ to manipulate, but the toll their increasingly “affectionate” interactions are taking on his dignity… sometimes it doesn’t feel worth it.

 _Physical form,_ Bill reminds himself dully, as he floats down to settle on the floor before the human. He grins up at Stanford as he starts to re-construct his visage. _One trillion years. What was that pukingly positive human saying? Ah, yes._ This too, shall pass.


	26. BillFord - Mirror Image (NSFW) Porn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Could you do something with BillFord and body worship?"
> 
> 350+ words

It’s entirely bizarre, making love to himself. Stanford, thankfully, has had a pretty good head start in dealing with things that are bizarre. Once the initial weirdness wears off, it’s like he and Bill have done this for eons.

He takes this chance to truly worship Bill. Stanford might be a bumbling amateur outside of his field of expertise in the paranormal, but Bill’s taken _his_ form, after all – and Stanford’s definitely no stranger to his own body. He starts out cautious, ghosting touches over the expanse of Bill’s new vessel. The sensation of feeling seems amplified tenfold compared to Bill’s original form, and the other’s witty comebacks and scathing remarks eventually trail off into overwhelmed silence as Stanford grows bolder with his movements.

It grows to the point where Bill is writhing impatiently beneath him. He’s as obnoxious and demanding as ever, but this time Stanford thinks there might be a tinge of urgency brewing beneath the mocking banter. For a moment, he understands why Bill enjoys riling him up so much. He drinks in the sight: his clone, spread bare beneath him, hair disheveled, flushed across his heaving chest; the way Bill glares up at him with bright, amber cat eyes through glasses that have been knocked askew.

“I, um,” Stanford says. His eyes dart away, then lock back on Bill’s as he takes a deep inhale. “I l-love you.”

Bill snorts. “Alright, you narcissist.”

“Not just because you’re human, now,” Stanford insists. He fumbles with his words. “I just… I’ve kind of – I thought it would be appropriate. To say. Since w-we’re about to – ”

The other groans, annoyed. “I was just _starting_ to enjoy this.”

Stanford hesitates, then slowly, purposefully, draws his fingers into his mouth. Bill’s eyes go wide as the same hand then slips back between Bill’s thighs and goes lower.

Stanford lightly rests a damp fingerpad against Bill’s entrance and they both suck in a sharp breath.

“Bill,” he mumbles, blushing. “Bill, my… my lord and master. I’d like to continue pleasing you. May I…?”

“Yeesh,” Bill rolls his eyes a little too quickly. _“Thouest may.”_


	27. BillFord - Never Had a Friend Like Me (Slight NSFW) Gen/Fluff

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Could you do something with BillFord and body worship?"
> 
> 1.5K+ words

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was the original draft for the BillFord body worship prompt in the previous chapter. I didn't quite like it enough to be the actual fill for the prompt, but there were some parts I didn't quite want to toss away, either. 
> 
> Contains tongue-in-cheek references to various forms of human!Bill. Unfinished and un-beta-ed. I’m really… really sorry for how much it sucks.

Stanford can’t stop staring.

“Like what you see?” Bill twirls around. He is a literal clone of Stanford, identical down to the last hair on his head, the dimple in his chin, his sixth fingers; his smudged lab coat and scuffed flats. The only difference between them now, really, is the very broad grin that’s stretched out across Bill’s lips. It’s unsettling in its wideness. Combined with the yellowed, slit pupils… Bill really does look a bit like a bizarre, humanoid Cheshire Cat.  

Bill _looks_ at Stanford, and Stanford averts his gaze immediately, acutely aware that his cheeks are burning, and that his heart is hammering at a hundred miles at hour. He wants to sink into the floor. He feels like he’s back at That Night, on prom night, where he’d finally succeeded in making conversation with a girl for more than five seconds. (Technically, he’d managed 4.8 seconds, but… close enough.)

Bill flashes his teeth. They’re _very_ white, and _very_ shiny. Ford’s pretty sure his own enamel isn’t that blindingly reflective. “Cat got your tongue?”

“You’re, um, me,” Ford comments, intelligently.

“Yeah, I figured it’d be the form you’d have the most interest in.” Bill snaps his fingers, and the thin, black cane that he normally has on him in his more geometric form appears in his hands. Stanford can see now that the cane is made of pure, solid obsidian. Bill leans on it coolly and continues grinning at Stanford, “Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, after all. …well. That, and you’ve got some kind of narcissistic complex going on. Yeah, turning into your doppelganger was a pretty easy choice to make.”  

“Well, it’s…” Ford scratches his cheek, awkward. “I’m flattered, but… wouldn’t you… prefer another form?”

“Urgh, _yes_ , very much,” Bill replies with a shudder, and Ford’s eyebrows furrow in a cross between confusion and hurt. “What? Don’t give me that look. You asked what form I’d wanted, and I’m being honest: this isn’t cutting it for me. Too many eyes, for one, and its defenses are pathetic – but somehow I highly doubt you’d wanna do the do w̨ITh̷ T̟̮͖h̩̠I̩̲̝̝S̪̖̯ B̵̨͈̦̳̞͉͜͜͡ͅe̶̷͚͇͉̞̬̠͙̯̪͔̦̜̯̪̺̩͎̮Á̸̛҉̢̭̥̣̞̪͚̰̯̱̙̯͚U҉̷̨̰̩̺͈̬̪͡t̷͇̼̺͔͙̖̩͖̻̩͕͕͙̼̜͈͜Y̛͟҉̲̫̤̮̣͙̤̜͖͇̫̘ͅ – ” 

“ – holy SHIT, Bill, change back! _CHANGE BACK!!_ ”

“ – B̝͕͖̲̮̈́̉̾U͑ͨ҉̶͔̜͇̥͈̮T͚͚̬̥͐̔̐̇̐̓͂́́ ͉̭͉̰̼̩͓̄̇ͣ̇͒̍͝͞Ḧ̶̡̡̘̥̳̜̟̤́E̿̋̄̀͆҉͔̻̩̼̘̟̮̩͉̀͜y̱̲͌̓̓̽ͬ̑̀͠ , t͏̟̝̜̦̰͈H̝̙͉͡i̝̗͘ş̥̙̱͍ͅ i̖͓s͓͖̳ aB͘ou̧t you, not me! What you like! Look what I can do – ”

Bill blurs rapidly before him, shifting into another appearance, and Ford visibly blanches at the sight of his actual twin in front of him. “Ugh, Bill – anything but _him_ , please! Especially if we’re going to do what I think we’re going to do…!”

“Some people relish the thrill of tasting the forbidden fruit.” ‘Stanley’ smirks at him, before melting and re-coalescing into… it’s not a visage Stanford’s familiar with, but whomever he is, he’s very aesthetically pleasing. The humanoid before him is tanned, skin the color of rich cocoa, with a shocking contrast of silk-blond hair. He’s smartly dressed in a three piece that’s sun yellow and shadow black, and inlaid with dark golden threads meant to emulate a brick pattern, like on Bill’s original form. A triangular eyepatch covers one of his ochre eyes, and his front teeth have a tiny gap between them when he grins.

“Yeah, I know. I’m a masterpiece.” Bill tosses his hair artfully and Stanford stares blatantly as his fringe swishes just so, like he’s right out of a shampoo commercial, slow-motion, sparkles and all. “Apparently, based on a general consensus of the younger females of your species, these are the collective culminations of what are, supposedly, very attractive human qualities. Or, well, this.” Bill snaps his fingers and suddenly the tan skin is flooded by milky whiteness, pale skin as smooth as marble. “It depends on who you ask, really. Or this.”

Bill snaps his fingers a third time and turns into a geeky-looking, young man with glasses larger than Stanford’s, and dark, wiry hair, his pants held up by suspenders. He waves Stanford off when the other continues staring dumbly, “Never mind. A couple years too early, you won’t get it.”      

“Why have all your impressions been male?”

Bill immediately transforms back into Stanford… and then turns female. Stanford’s suddenly staring down a ridiculously voluptuous version of himself and he takes a step back, eyes darting wildly over her form and the way the now-oversized lab coat seems to completely engulf every inch of her (save the chest area) within its loose folds.

“What are you…?! I would _not_ look like that if I was of the opposite gender!”

Bill giggles girlishly and bats heavy eyelashes at him. Stanford swallows again, more from actual discomfort than any sort of arousal. The latter feeling, he realizes, seems to be the furthest thing from his mind at the moment, despite the physically attractive reproductive qualities of his female alter. He’s never really known how to deal with women, and Bill suddenly presenting as female when he’s used to him being male is… a difficult concept to grasp.

“What? Nose not big enough?” Bill makes a spreading motion with his (her?) thumb and forefinger in front of her face, and her nose grows accordingly. “Hips too thin?” Bill’s hips expand sideways. “More thunder thighs?” So do her legs. “Too slim? Too short? Not enough stockiness? Too well-endowed?” She flows from one transformation to the other seamlessly, like human putty, while Stanford gapes. “Well, lucky for you, you’ll get to decide what you want me to look like. Mindscape, remember? Oh, FYI: you’re anything but straight. You’re welcome. So, if you’ve ever wondered what hermaphrodite sex is like - “

“…just… change back into me, please,” he mumbles, and Ford rubs his clammy hands over his face as Bill turns back into, well, him. He supposes it’s for the best, really – out of all the forms he’s been shown thus far, Stanford having sex with not-really-himself would be the least disconcerting. At least until he gets used to the other forms. …including That One. He tries to temper down the sudden flare of nervousness that’s roared up in the pit of his stomach, and at the idea, at the very real possibility that he’d get to do this again with Bill, and again and again….

He keeps his gaze cautiously focused on a point somewhere behind Bill’s left ear. “So, uh, I suppose… this is it? How should we…?”    

“Have sex?” Bill laughs as Stanford coughs into his fist.

“I, well,” Ford swallows. This is happening. Bill and him are actually going to… “I’m not… sure what to do. Or how I should… I mean, I’ve got a vague idea of… things, but…”

“Right, right. Human virgin.” Bill disappears in a ‘pop’ of white-blue light and re-flashes into existence directly besides Stanford, still cloned, but without the cane, and the other yelps, startled. Bill just laughs cheerfully and drapes a firm, weighty arm around Stanford’s shoulders. “See, it sounds simple enough, but it’s really not. Like I said before: this… ‘consummation’? Really more of a human thing. I could probably just stick in it you and call it a done deal after a minute, but where’s the fun in that?”

Ford chokes, eyes wide. “ – stick – ?!”

“Hm, what other words do you use for this, uhhh… ‘Penetration’. ‘Intercourse’. ‘Anal’. ‘Penile’ – ”

_“I get it, Bill.”_

“Oh, you will.” Bill smirks, and Ford starts choking all over again. “Look, point is – you humans treat sex like some kind of sacred ritual. Its main purpose between opposite sexes is to pro-create, sure, but there’s more emotional significance attached to it, that drives it. It’s like a soul-bond, or imprinting, or a – “ here Bill trills out an odd, somewhat electronic, otherworldly sound that Stanford can only describe as ‘rhythmically expanding and contracting shapes of various colors’, and he doesn’t know how he knows that he’s hearing colors, and that is a noise that should not have been possible to replicate with human vocal chords, “ – or _kciertrigliarieg_ , or whatever. It’s pointless for me to commit to this with you if you end up not fully appreciating the deal.”

Bill pulls him backwards so Ford’s back is flush against Bill’s human chest. If Ford’s heart had been hammering before, it’s going rapid-fire right now. Bill is holding him. Bill is holding him.

“You’re going to like this, Stanford. A lot.” Bill strokes Stanford’s cheeks with his hands – his hands that are Stanford’s hands, and Stanford’s never thought much about his own hands before but they are rough, and warm, and large against his skin, where Bill is touching him. Stanford’s breathing stutters as Bill murmurs lowly into his ear, in a voice that’s both his and not his all at once, lips brushing along the shell of it, “I’ll make sure of it.”

“ – _oh_ ,” Ford manages weakly, because – because – well. _Something’s_ definitely stirring within him, after that husky declaration.

Bill chuckles and slightly tightens his hold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah that was a lame reference to Word of God approving what human Bill Cipher would probably look like Steve Urkel from Family Matters aha (http://kiki-kit.tumblr.com/post/130112448029/lcawararyouta-okay-so-i-just-posted-this-on)


	28. Fiddlestanwich - Are You Sure That's Hygienic (Slight NSFW) - Crack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Old Fiddlestanwich with Fidds' prehensile beard?"
> 
> 300-drabble. Crack, obviously. NSFW talk but nothing happens otherwise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m not sure if this was someone remembering some offhanded comment I made in my posts before about the same, or if it just came about as an original idea, but either way thank you very much for the amount of amusement this prompt left me with pfft.

This is Stan’s first question about Fiddleford’s unholy, prehensile beard. Naturally:

“So, can we have sex with it?”

 _“Jesus, Stanley,”_ Stanford says, the same time Fiddleford cheerfully replies, without any shame or hesitation whatsoever, “Don’ see why not!”

“I’m not lettin’ someone who’s had sex with god-knows-how-many-aliens in god-knows-how-many-dimensions judge me about my preferences.”

 _“For the record,”_ Ford counters, nose in the air, “there were only _two_ beings I’ve had sexual relations with during my time spent travelling between dimensions. The second one was _at least_ twenty-three percent more humanoid than the – ”

“What’s the big deal, anyway?” Stan demands. “I mean, we’re old. Like, pushing-seventy, _old_. McGucket is… I dunno, ninety, or a hundred, or something – but anyway, it’s not like anyone’s gonna wanna see us get down and dirty with each other. _No one’s going to think we’re hot_ , or beat off to us makin’ out or whatever – who’s going to give a single shit about what we do with our dicks at this point? I do what I want. Just slap a condom on, and we’re good to go. Right? …do we, do we even need condoms? I mean, if we’ve already got one foot in th’grave – ”

“Honestly, fellas,” Fiddleford says, “when I asked if y’all had any questions about m’beard, I was expectin’ sumthin’ more like, ‘Gosh, McGucket, that beard’s awful nice. Wha’cha do ta keep it in such tip-top condition?’ or ‘Ya ever tried countin’ all the hairs innit, and what was th’number?’ or ‘Ya sure it ain’t movin’ the way it do because’a lice?’ but, you know. I’ll take what I can get. Which hasn’t been a lot.”

“And that,” Ford declares, “is why we need the condom.”

Stan shrugs. “Works for me.”

“The count’s eighty quandruple and banana long,” Fiddleford sighs proudly.


	29. Fiddlestanwich - Triangulum, Entangulum (NSFW) Crack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Fiddlestanwich, Stan and Fidds having a competition to see which one can make Ford cum first :)"
> 
> about 700+ words. Mystery!Trio!AU, NSFW, crack!porn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Really more Stancest + Fiddauthor than a Fiddlestanwich with this one honestly (and maybe slight hints of BillFord) but ANYWAY, PORN. 
> 
> THANK YOU, GOODNIGHT.

“I bet I can make Ford cum before you do.”

“I’m not playing this game, Stanley.”

Stan counts down.

“…god _dammit_.”

x x x

“You’re going to have to wait,” Ford announces, without looking up, as he hears Stanley’s determined footfalls march across the threshold of the study. “I’m in the middle of a very important train of thought right now and – ”

He’s rudely yanked away from his work by the chin, and then assaulted on the mouth.

“Mmph?!”

Stan’s tongue forcefully surges past his lips. A very warm hand palms tactlessly at his chest, and another against his crotch.

Ford’s train of thought derails enough for him to see red.

Fiddleford watches impassively as Stan is literally punched out from the room.

x x x

“Smooth.”

“Shut up,” Stan snarls, curled over his bruised ego.

“Were ya tryin’a seduce him or rape him?”

_“Shut. Up.”_

x x x

He’s still attempting to piece his writing together when two lanky arms drape across his shoulders from behind him.

Ford grunts. “Not now, Fiddleford.”

“Oh, don’t let me stop you. You keep doing what you’re doing.” The hands slide up, and Fiddleford’s long, talented fingers begin massaging into his trapezius, then up into the base of his skull. Ford groans a little in respite and relaxes.

His pen continues scratching feverishly across paper until Fiddleford’s hands slip away from massaging his spine to groping his butt. His barely functioning train of thought derails, again.  

Fiddleford joins Stan on the floor.

x x x

“ _Not_ in his study,” Stan concludes.

“Not in his study,” Fiddleford agrees grumpily.

They sulk in silence, curled up on opposite ends of the couch.

“He’s _really_ obsessed with those stupid triangles,” Stan says.

The silence that follows lasts a little too long.

Fiddleford slowly turns his head to stare at the other. “…no.”

 _“Yes,”_ Stan says, in that voice that means he’s about to do something either ridiculously clever or incredibly _stupid_.

“There is _no way_ that is going to work.”

“You can’t be too sure.”

“This is _absurd_ ,” Fiddleford says. “Stanford is _not_ going to fall for – ”

x x x

“Why are the both of you dressed up as pyramids?” Ford demands.

Stanley feels, rather than sees, the death glare that Fiddleford’s slowly searing into the back of his head.

“Uhhh.” Stan strikes a pose. “…trick or treat!”

“Halloween’s in October.”

 _“That’s month-ist,”_ Stan retorts. “You got a problem with Halloween bein’ celebrated in June?”

“I’m just… going to take this off.” Fiddleford starts shuffling out of the room. “And then maybe hang myself in the woods. Well, g’night!”

“N-no, wait, don’t!”

The two pyramids turn back to stare at Stanford.

Stanford keeps a straight face. “Ahem. It _is_ Summerween…?”

x x x

It’s a little hard moving around with the bulky costumes on, but they manage.

 _“Equilateral,”_ Fiddleford whispers, watching as Ford shudders beneath him and automatically bares his throat. He tongues the corresponding shapes against Ford’s bobbing Adam’s apple as he continues murmuring, “Isosceles. Scalene. Acute. Obtuse – ”

“ – sine. Cosine. Tangent.” He can’t see whatever it is that Stan’s doing between Ford’s legs, but it’s clearly effective because it has Ford writhing like a condemned worm on a hook. “Uhhh, slabs of ham. Celery and horseradish. Tons of asparagus – ”  

Stan stops talking then, diving downwards, and Ford _jerks_. Fiddleford swallows the filthy howl that rips out of him. 

They have to hold him down with their combined efforts as Ford convulses loudly and helplessly beneath their administrations.

Stan sits back and wipes at his mouth, smirking, as his brother finally trembles back down to earth.

“I win.”

 _“Excuse you,”_ Fiddleford retorts, over the brainless, cooing noises that Ford is emitting from where he’s cradled between the inventor’s arms, “ _that_ was a joint collaboration. _Clearly_ , it was a _tie_.”

“Yeah, but I did all the work.” Stan licks his shiny lips with deliberate slowness and Fiddleford kicks him in the thigh. He looks at his brother. The normally serious, reserved scientist has the widest, stupidest grin on his face. “Geez though, Ford, really? Triangles? Why am I not surprised?”

“I looooove youuu,” Ford giggles, happily.

Stan fixes Fiddleford with shit-eating eyebrows. “See? He loves _me_.”

“You know what?” Fiddleford scowls, “Just for that? I’m going to one-up my game. You may have won this round, Stanley Pines, but I’ll be back. I’ll be back with the most _triangular arsenal of masturbatory aids the world has never known._ We’ll see who’s better at getting Stanford off WHY ARE WE DOING THIS.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!


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